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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104194">great curiosity but great fulfillment</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/7losers/pseuds/7losers'>7losers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, M/M, this is literally just smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:14:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/7losers/pseuds/7losers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>stanley moves out, eddie and richie finally make their moves.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>great curiosity but great fulfillment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Richie had known how close he’d be to constantly combusting after Stanley moved out, he would’ve begged him to stay.<br/><br/>Richie, despite living off-and-on with Eddie for four years in college and two post-graduating, had never had the honor of a one-on-one living situation. He, Eddie, and Stanley rented an apartment together after graduation; two years after, Stan and Patty had (<em>finally</em>) decided to move in together. Richie had been more than fine sleeping in the makeshift laundry/bedroom for two years, but was pleased to acquire his own bedroom, and relinquished Stan the Man from his captivity.<br/><br/>Now, Richie can handle Eddie popping into Richie’s bedroom shirtless. Richie’s always ready to give Eddie his opinion on clothing, proud of how Eddie’s claimed his own style over the years, shifting from mommy’s solid button-ups to patterns, tailored pants, and chunky rings. That’s simple enough – Richie focuses on the task at hand and takes a breather afterwards.</p><p>He can handle the quiet groans Eddie makes when he stretches, shirt tugging just high enough to see his belly button and soft hips.<br/><br/>Richie can handle it. He’s trained himself to handle it. Eight years of being hopelessly attracted to <em>and</em> in love with one of your best friends will do that.<br/><br/>What he can’t handle - what makes him feel like bursting out of his own skin - is <em>this</em>.<br/><br/>It started as a casual night in. Eddie came home from work, exhausted after nearing a fifty-hour week, and asked Richie if they could watch something mindless with dinner. As Eddie ordered Chinese for delivery and Richie prepared Netflix, the sun dipped beneath the horizon, only spots of their apartment illuminated by lamps and the sporadic candle. Chinese was delivered, eaten, and leftovers were put in the fridge.</p><p>The two men shifted from the table to the couch, separated only by a rogue blanket. Eddie apparently <em>was </em>exhausted, because he fell asleep thirty minutes into <em>Planet Earth</em>, shifting ever-so-slightly to his left and resting his head onto Richie’s shoulder<em>.</em></p><p>This – domesticity? <em>Tenderness</em>? This is something Richie can’t handle.</p><p>David Attenborough’s pleasant voice buzzes in his ears, background noise to the bustle of thoughts bouncing around in his mind. Sure, Eddie’s fallen asleep with him before, but this… is different. They’re alone. They’re not in Richie’s childhood bed anymore, closeted high schoolers, distraught and frustrated from a lack of communication. And, sure, maybe there’s been <em>more</em> lack of communication over the years, thanks <em>trauma</em>, but since Stan moved out, Richie has felt a shift in their dynamic. They still bicker, playfully throwing lackluster insults back and forth, but it’s softer.</p><p>Richie shakes himself out of his thoughts. Literally – he shakes his head, and, knowing that he <em>could </em>use his own fatigue as an excuse later, wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer.</p><p>Eddie makes a soft, “Mm?” noise and looks up at Richie, disturbed by the sudden movement. “Shoot, I missed the baby polar bears?” he asks quietly, yawning, pressing his face into Richie’s shoulder more. There’s a pause, both men gauging the appropriateness of their position. Richie drums his fingers along the armrest in an uneven rhythm, in disbelief at how warm his face is, because what is he – sixteen? He half-expects Eddie to spring up off the couch.</p><p>He doesn’t.</p><p><em>Well.</em><br/><br/>“Hey, what’s white, furry, and has wheels?” Richie asks. Eddie lets out a low, long sigh, repositioning himself so he can squint at Richie.</p><p>“Do I want to know?”</p><p>“A roller bear. Ha-ha,” Richie says. <em>Damn</em>. The lamp in the corner makes Eddie’s hair look like it’s glowing. Eddie stares at him, mouth open. It’s quiet for a beat too long; Richie’s about to jump off the couch himself, go grab some beer or <em>something</em>, when Eddie laughs.</p><p>A laughing crowd of fifty people couldn’t compare to one Eddie.</p><p>And maybe it’s the way that damn light’s shining, or the way Eddie’s eyes crinkle behind his glasses, or the inviting dusk, or the shift that’s taken place over the past few weeks.</p><p>Maybe it’s just years of pent-up attraction, because Richie can feel anticipatory heat pooling low in his stomach.</p><p>Eddie stops laughing, catching Richie’s eyes in the dark. Eddie’s eyes are wide, provocative, an answer rather than a question. He nods, barely discernible but for the lamps and the flickering candle.</p><p>Richie kisses him.</p><p>It’s gentle. Their lips move against each other, slowly exploring what could’ve been years ago. Their glasses clank together. Eddie threads his fingers through Richie’s curls and tugs Richie’s lips away from his with a sigh. He takes off both of their glasses, settles them on the coffee table, and, with a glint in his eyes, moves so he’s in Richie’s lap.</p><p>Richie lets out a strangled, “Jesus, Eds,” and Eddie laughs. Richie, for the first time, cuts off his laughter, surging back into the kiss with a ferocity motivated by eight years of pent-up feelings. Eddie quickly glides his tongue across Richie’s bottom lip, a plea, and Richie obliges. He puts his hands on Eddie’s waist and squeezes his thighs. Richie sucks on Eddie’s bottom lip, biting gently, and smiles against the other man’s mouth when Eddie sighs into the kiss. Richie takes the moment to pull away, leaving open-mouthed kisses down Eddie’s cheek and to his throat. Richie nips, gentle as their first kiss, but sucks harder when Eddie buries his head into the crook of his shoulder. The movement grinds their hips together; Richie bites onto Eddie’s neck in a poor attempt to hide his own moan.</p><p>Eddie, missing the feeling of Richie’s lips already, takes the moment and brings their lips back together. It’s messy now, sloppy, but he doesn’t care. He grinds against Richie and soaks in the deep noise Richie makes. Richie’s hands move from his hips – God, he loves being held like that, he feels so <em>small</em> – to his ass, squeezing once then slapping, palm open, through the fabric of his sweatpants.</p><p>Eddie, half-aware of his own movements, takes off his shirt in one motion. He gestures for Richie to raise his arms and, as he obliges, helps him out of his shirt, too.</p><p>“I want to make you feel good, Rich,” Eddie says.</p><p>“Well, you’re definitely succeeding,” Richie responds. His pupils are blown, eyes large without his glasses. His lips are wet and red. “Stand up.”</p><p>Eddie, for the second time that night, squints at him, but shoves off the couch. Shirtless and standing in front of the window – blinds closed, thank goodness – he feels a bit self-conscious as Richie’s eyes drag up and down his body. He’s hard, as if it weren’t obvious enough. With a swell of courage, he forces Richie’s eyes to meet his own, and palms himself through his pants.</p><p>Richie blanks.</p><p>“Take off your pants,” he says. He licks his lips. It feels like his voice is caught in his throat. His own dick is throbbing, embarrassingly hard, and his face is hot. Richie tugs his own pants off quickly, unable to tear his eyes away from Eddie.</p><p>“Shit, Eds. When you look like that, I don’t know how you'll expect me to last,” Richie laughs. It’s embarrassingly true; all of his teenage wet dreams seem to be morphing into one cohesive scene. “C’mere,” he adds, reaching his hand out and pulling Eddie back down on top of him.</p><p>They kiss for a bit. Richie’s skin is warm against Eddie. The direct contact makes him want to melt. Eddie makes breathless gasping noises when he rolls his hips against Richie’s; David Attenborough has stopped playing in the background. The sound of their lips smacking against another and Eddie’s soft moans fill their apartment.</p><p>Eddie starts to leave a trail of kisses down Richie’s throat, licking along the pulse point. He moves down his chest, scooting off the couch to his knees, and stops when he gets to the trail of hair that disappears beneath Richie’s boxers.</p><p>He looks up. Richie’s looking down at him, his chest heaving. Eddie’s attempting to catch his own breath – <em>wow</em>, he’s really lost it – but gives Richie a soft smile. Richie smiles back and nods. Another deep breath in.</p><p>Eddie pulls down Richie’s underwear, and loses the minimal breath he had retained.</p><p>Apparently he’s too quiet, too still, for a beat too long, because Richie starts to say, “Ta da—” when Eddie takes him in his hand. Richie’s “ta da” turns into, “Jesus<em> fucking</em> Christ,” and he throws his head back onto the edge of the couch when Eddie takes him in his mouth. Eddie’s not – practiced, necessarily, at giving blowjobs, but feeling Richie in his mouth, knowing that <em>he </em>is the one <em>making him feel like that</em>, gives him more enthusiasm.</p><p>Richie’s gone to heaven, Eddie’s a blowjob angel, he’s actually dead. The recurring chain: “<em>Jesus fucking Christ holy shit</em>,” is churning through his brain. It pauses for a minute only when he looks down again and Eddie’s looking at him through heavy lidded eyes when he takes all of him in his mouth. Eddie chokes a bit, but keeps his mouth around Richie’s dick, and uses the additional spit as a lubricant.</p><p>“A blowjob should not be this good,” he laughs, strained, “considering we’re in our twenties.” Richie doesn’t even know if it’s because Eddie’s doing a good job, or because it’s Eddie.</p><p>Eddie hums around his dick, and Richie melts back into the couch. He reaches out and grabs a fistful of Eddie’s hair, and Eddie presses into it. Richie begins moving his hips in rhythm with Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie takes a deep breath, allowing himself to take as much of Richie as he can on each thrust. He breathes through his nose, but still has to gasp for air occasionally. Eddie’s used to being out of breath. He loves it.</p><p>He loves the way Richie shows his pleasure. He loves the way Richie thrusts into his mouth, the way his thighs quiver on either side of him, and the way he laughs in breathless admiration. Eddie’s hard, too, leaking into his own underwear, but the way Richie’s reacting…</p><p>It’s amazing.</p><p>“Eds, I’m going to come if you don’t stop,” Richie says. Eddie runs encouraging circles into Richie’s hips. A wordless affirmation: He doesn’t want him to stop.</p><p>Richie comes quickly, hand tightening in Eddie’s hair as Eddie continues sucking him off, swallowing the come as the salt hits his tongue. He rides Richie through his orgasm, trying to see as much of Richie’s face as he can. Richie free hands shoots out at the end of it and Eddie holds onto it.</p><p>Richie asks Eddie to stop, sensitive in the aftermath, holding his head back with a wobbly hand. Eddie swallows once more and grins wildly at Richie.</p><p>“I think you killed me,” Richie says. His hair is all over the place, lip red from biting on it. “I’m going to call the police. No, wait, I’m going to call Stan, I need to thank him for leaving.” Richie sits up and starts to reach for his cell phone, but Eddie laughs and weasels his way back onto Richie’s lap. He kisses him, drawn out and messy and perfect.</p><p>“Is there something you want?” Richie asks when they pull apart. He smiles widely and whispers into Eddie’s ear. “I need to thank you,” he reaches into Eddie’s waistband and Eddie groans loudly at the touch he’d been desperately waiting for, “tell me how.”</p><p>Eddie tells him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you know eddie would sit them down the next morning and make up for that lack of communication over the years.</p><p>yes, this is the first time i've written any sort of explicit work in years. please be kind. &lt;3 </p><p>richie's an ass man, what can i say. also -- i'm a huge fan of richie being the blowjob king but wanted to switch it up a bit.</p><p>(yes, the title is technically a david attenborough quote. sorry!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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